


When we collide

by Eleanor_jane (eleanor_jane)



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Protective Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7556059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_jane/pseuds/Eleanor_jane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A song fic, based on the song 'Black Chandelier' by Biffy Clyro.</p><p>How Bucky Barnes learnt how to heal and let himself fall in love. How Steve Rogers found his best friend again. And how Sam Wilson rolled his eyes and whispered, "Gay."</p>
            </blockquote>





	When we collide

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd try my hand at writing a song fic, and just had to choose this incredible song. I hope you enjoy it!  
> The characters are sadly not mine.

_I shouldn't laugh but I know I'm a failure in your eyes_

 

Bucky didn’t even realize how hard he was holding the remote until it cracked in his hand. The battery rolled out underneath the bed, but he couldn’t be bothered to pick it back up. It was useless anyway. He could empathize.

The news bulletin was doing an article called ‘The fall of Captain America’. The preppy blonde presenting was earnestly telling the audience about how Steve had once represented freedom, showing some old arc hive footage from the war. He could see himself leaning on Steve’s arm, surrounded by the other Howling Commandos. He could remember the day vaguely, but nothing that he felt. He couldn’t remember what had prompted the wide grin on his face, or what had made him rest his hand on Steve’s thigh under the table.

“As the death count grows higher and higher, some believe all of America needs to reconsider the power that this man has. Was he a hero or a murderer, assassin or soldier? Tune in next week for more.” He barely registered his metal fist making contact with the television, and didn’t feel it as a flying piece of glass hit his face. Blood was dripping, but he didn’t care.

People had finally seen Steve for the hero he was. And then he’d torn it all apart for a man who had once been Bucky Barnes.

 

_I know it's daft but I guess that I know it deep inside_

 

His lips were hungry, and his hands were everywhere. James felt everything and nothing, the world and a space huge enough to swallow him up. The man was a distraction but that was all he needed: and the muscled man with sharp eyes and a sharper smile gave him the release he needed. In between the covers, the hot mess of panting finished and the man lay down. Some time later he got up and strode away, leaving The Winter Soldier lying there motionless.

Five more hours passed, and when Sam strode into the crappy little room with the four-poster bed his shoulders sunk. James Buchanan Barnes woke up, and sobs wracked his body. He didn’t say a word as Sam got him dressed and drove him home.

It feels like we're ready to crack these days, you and I  
When it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die

Sam told Steve because you have to look out for your brother like that, but he didn’t believe it. So he found Bucky, and asked him. Bucky nodded his head, and their whole world got ripped out from beneath them all over again.

He didn’t even know why he did it.

Bucky was broken and smashed up in a thousand different places and Steve would never dream of touching him that way because he knew what Hydra had done and he wouldn’t do that. Steve was good and kind and loyal and he’d been willing to wait for as long as it took.

Then Bucky had screwed a man he didn’t even know. Was it cheating? Steve had spent every minute with him, held his hand to keep him anchored down and they’d kissed once. It was dark and they were a little drunk, but after that Steve spent the nights in Bucky’s bed – not doing anything, just lying there as a human shield when the nightmares came – and it had been good. There had been something there, and he’d turned it all to dust.

That night Steve slept in his own bed.

 

_You left my heart like an abandoned car  
Old and worn out, no use at all_

 

Sam had stood and looked at him for a long time. “I want to punch you in the face.” Bucky had raised an eyebrow and met his eye.  
“Because I destroyed your car.”  
Sam had shaken his head with a humorless laugh. “Because you destroyed my best friend.” Then he’d punched him, hard enough to leave a bruise blossoming over Bucky’s jaw. It felt good, almost. It felt good the same way sparring did, and going on missions did, and working out until he was gasping and sweating and couldn’t breathe did. It hurt, but it was good to hurt.

Perhaps he had cheated on Steve – that’s the word he’d settled on – to push him away. Perhaps he didn’t want to be fixed. Maybe he wanted to stay broken. He’d lashed out and hurt the only person who truly cared because that was what he did.

He hid from Steve’s looks and ignored the pained smiles, could see how hard Steve tried to make it look like he was over it and it didn’t affect him.

That night Steve didn’t sleep by his side yet again. The nightmares were worse than usual, but he didn’t cry out. Sometimes it was good to hurt.

 

_But I used to be free_

 

It was mid mission when he remembered. They were surrounded and Sam was out of range and everyone had guns except them. Bucky and Steve were fighting side by side, and didn’t pause when he started to speak.

“It was your birthday. You were seventeen. We went to see a game, and then afterwards we went to a bar. You kept coughing ‘cause your asthma was playing up, but you refused to go home. We walked down the streets for ages so you could clear your lungs…”  
“And then you kissed me.” Steve filled in quietly, dispatching the last black uniform clad man easily. He met his eye and there was something electric.

Bucky wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but the next thing he knew Steve’s lips were on his and he as frozen in place yet he was kissing him back. Steve’s lips were no more certain that they had been that night, but there was something in the kiss this time. It was a promise and an apology and forgiveness all in one.

When Sam landed he took one look at them and took off again. His voice crackled over the coms, making Steve chuckle slightly. “You can make your own way back.”

 

_We're gonna separate ourselves tonight_

 

Steve’s head was tilted to the side, his face stoic but his eyes glistening. Bucky wanted to grab him, hold him tighter and never let him go. He didn’t. He let Sam clap him on the back, and Natasha is the one he turned to for reassurance. Bucky stood on the sidelines, in the same room but a million miles away.

“Buck?” The question is there in those words, and again all he can do is nod.  
“They’ll wake me up when they can fix me.” Steve pulls him close then, and he smells like wood and shampoo and just Steve. His lips are familiar on Bucky’s and by now tears are sliding down both their faces.  
“I’ll be here. ‘Til the end of the line.” There’s nothing more he can say, no words to make him understand how much he needs this. How he wants to be free to fall in love again without being scared that a few words in Russian will make him destroy everything.

He steps into the chamber, and the ice makes the tears on his cheeks freeze into icy gems.

 

_We're always running scared but holding knives_  
But there's a black chandelier  
It's casting shadows and lies 

 

He’s so cold in the freezer, so cold and everything is moving slow somehow and he’s not thinking but he is thinking and he has time. Great expanses of it, time to take every moment he could remember and decipher it and separate it into categories in his mind. There is good and there is bad in his brain.

Good contains Sam’s ham and cheese toastie, pride parades and Steve. It contains Clint and Wanda and Natasha, because she would always be good in his brain. It contains Sam too, though he would never tell him that.

Bad contains Hydra and killing and the Winter Soldier and Polio. Bad was then and good was now.

He thought about Steve, in that endless expanse of frozen time. He thought about a brave kid with more medical conditions that he could count. He thought of shining shields and dancing girls and Steve appearing in that Hydra base when he needed him most. He thought of Captain America and Steve Rogers.

 

_I'll sit in silence for the rest of my life if you'd like_

 

When the door opens the first thing he notices is now cold it is. It is bone shockingly, painfully, terrifyingly, numbingly cold. He collapses forward, totally helpless. Fear starts to crawl up his spine as someone catches him.

Is it Steve?

Not Steve. It’s not Steve and he can’t move and they’re going to say the words and he’s going to lose control and he’s so cold and he can’t…

It’s Sam. He desperately tries to breathe and relax and choke out words all at the same time as his one hand fixes itself on Sam’s shoulder as he’s lowered onto a bed.

“You look crap, man.”  
“How… long?” His tongue felt like it didn’t belong in his mouth, and he was so cold.  
“Three years.”  
His mind was sent reeling, and he flinched away from someone with a big needle. “Where… Steve?”  
“He’s…” As Sam spoke suddenly Steve was here, still mud streaked and in his uniform with his shield banging to the floor as he gripped Bucky’s good hand. Steve was staring him in the eyes and leaning close to him like he could barely believe Bucky was really there. “Gay, obviously. I’ll give you two some space.”

He was still cold, still on edge and confused but Steve was here so he was safe. He sat up with difficulty, and staggered to his feet. He wanted to tell Steve about the Good and the Bad, how he had remembered it all and he finally understood it. Instead he just collapsed in Steve’s arms and held him tight and everything was going to be okay.

 

_Dressing our wounds with industrial gloves made of wire_

 

The world had changed again. There was a new plan to sort him out. He was supposedly to be surrounded with the words that triggered him, until they had no more effect.

The days were long and tiring and almost made him consider refreezing, until Steve wrapped his arms around him and buried his head in his hair and he realized he had every reason to hang around.

Sam dragged him to a barber. He panicked on the way there. Sam held his shoulder tight and got him through it. Maybe he wasn’t such a dick after all. When he got home and an explosion of sparkles ruined his new haircut just before a meeting with Fury he reconsidered ever letting Sam and Natasha communicate ever again. Clint said he was adorable and took pictures. Sam definitely was a dick.

It was difficult, trying to heal. The words buzzed around his head and stole away what little sleep he could get, and spent most of time wandering around and drinking bad coffee. Every mission changed Steve a little more, and some days there just weren’t the words worth saying. They held each other tight, and that was enough.

Healing wasn’t easy. But somehow they got through.


End file.
